


Prototype

by Himring



Series: Bits of Elven Glass [1]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Elessar - Freeform, Family, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Gift Giving, Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-18 10:48:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2345717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Himring/pseuds/Himring
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maedhros gives the first Elessar to Fingon and explains the circumstances and purpose of its making</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Formenos

It is pitch-dark in Feanor’s workshop in Formenos.  The windows have been shuttered and barred ever since its master departed south to Valmar. The heavy oaken door is locked, and even Curufin is not allowed to enter in Feanor’s absence. The light of the Trees, dimmed by distance this far north, does not filter in.

Shuttered, barred, locked—but even that is not enough. Built into an interior wall, surrounded by layers and layers of masonry, the workshop contains an inner chamber sealed tightly with a door of steel and an intricate locking mechanism only Feanor can undo. Through the hairline crack surrounding the door, bright white light leaks, not much of it, just the suspicion of a star, but it would still draw the eyes of all if anyone were here to see.

That is where the Silmarils are kept, of course. Much, much fainter, in an out-of-the-way corner of the workshop at the back of a dusty shelf, there is also a tiny glow of green, perhaps only visible because the workshop is otherwise so dark.

Suddenly, impossibly, it seems darker still. Soon after, a thunderous blow strikes the gate of Formenos, so loud that it overpowers the sense of hearing. The thick walls shudder as destruction makes its way into the heart of Formenos.

The tiny green glow is extinguished.


	2. The Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Hithlum

‘Hold out your hand, Findekano.’                                                     

Fingon was puzzled.  He had just been describing his recent visit to Brithombar. But Maedhros’s response did not seem to have anything to do with the Falathrim—or with anything else that Fingon could make out.

‘Hold out your hand’, his cousin repeated, softly, without a hint of a smile.

In days gone by, in Tirion, these same words might have introduced the sharing of the proceeds from a minor raid on the palace kitchens or some kind of practical joke. However, Fingon did not think it was likely that he was about to receive a piece of saffron cake or almond pastry. He held out his hand.

The object on his palm felt small, hard and heavy for its size. Maedhros’s fingers, having placed it there, withdrew and Fingon could see it was a green jewel, multi-faceted. On this grey autumn day, it glowed in his hand as with the light of the sun seen through new beech leaves in spring.

‘It’s lovely’, he said, delighted. He looked at it more closely and added, seriously: ‘But it’s not just a pretty stone, is it?’

‘No’, said Maedhros. ‘Father designed it.’

He looked away and then back at Fingon. Still speaking softly and almost reluctantly, as if sharing a secret with Fingon and the stone held between them, he began to explain:

‘Contrary to what you might imagine, considering the outcome, Father didn’t spend all those years of exile in Formenos simply nursing his grudges. There were times, especially early on, when he envisioned a kind of compromise. When his time in Formenos was over, he decided, he would leave for Middle-earth with those of us who wished to follow him and, in return for unhindered departure, he would offer to concede his position and all his rights in Aman freely to your father.’

‘But nothing came of that’, observed Fingon quietly.

‘No’, said Maedhros, dryly, ‘for one thing, he never could bring himself to discuss it with Grandfather at all. However much he might have wished to leave Aman, I’m not sure he would ever have done so as long as it meant leaving Grandfather.  And also, of course, his old resentment ran deep…’

They sat for a moment in silence.

Then Maedhros continued: ‘But this stone—or rather its design—formed part of that plan. Father began to design a pair of gems. One of them was for himself. Despite his burning desire to leave Aman, he remained aware that it was a risky undertaking to lead a whole people into the wilderness of Endore. The green stone was intended to help ensure that we would be able to wrest a livelihood from an unknown environment far from the Light of the Trees, for it would resonate with the power of growing things. The red stone, on the other hand…’

‘The red stone?’ echoed Fingon, unconsciously closing his fingers over the green gem in his hand.

‘The red stone would resonate with the fire of the heart and help the bearer to inspire confidence in his followers. That one Father planned to give to your father to help to heal the breach.’

‘But…!’, Fingon’s face clearly expressed what he thought his father’s likely reaction would have been to a gift that suggested he was unable to inspire enough confidence in his people without a little extra help from his half-brother.

Maedhros gave him a small twisted smile.

‘I said Father was envisioning a compromise. I didn’t say he had learned tact in his dealings with people who didn’t see eye to eye with him…’

‘I see’, said Fingon. ‘Or rather I don’t see. How come I’m holding this stone of Feanaro’s in my hand? If you are really planning to give it away, shouldn’t you be giving it to my father?’

And he opened his fingers and extended the stone towards his cousin. Maedhros shook his head, frowning slightly.

‘This isn’t the green jewel Father planned to make. He gave up those plans and never finished work on it. The prototypes that existed were consumed in the Darkness that accompanied Melkor to Formenos.

We could not have completed Father’s original design. We adapted it, what we remembered of it, Curvo and me, with not a little help from Tyelpo. This stone is different, less powerful, but perhaps not lesser in all things. For Father’s green stone was in essence to be a tool of conquest, although he did not see it that way, I think. It would have forced the land to comply with his wishes.

But this stone was made for you. What I have seen of your love for Hithlum and for Dor-lomin, I have locked into this stone, and it is your love for your new home that is the key to unlocking its power. It is meant to aid you in your plans and, although its working will be much slower, I expect, it should be much less forcible and also more precise.’

‘You made it for me?’ asked Fingon and studied the gem in his palm with renewed wonder. ‘Have you also made one for yourself?’

His cousin was silent. Fingon regarded him with concern.

‘The Marches…?’ he asked tentatively.

‘Maybe one day’, said Maedhros. ‘Not yet.’

‘I see’, said Fingon, sadly.

‘But the red stone—are you planning to make one like that also?’ he thought to ask.

‘No’, said Maedhros firmly. ‘Although Tyelpo has ideas… But no.’

And Fingon saw in his cousin’s face the memory of the market square in Tirion and a whole people swayed by Feanor’s voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have picked up ideas from fanon as well as from canon here: the idea of the red stone originally intended for Fingolfin which ultimately inspires Celebrimbor to create Narya, the Ring of Fire, is my own, I believe, but draws on inventions by Cirdan and others.


	3. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Dor-lomin

In Dor-lomin, Fingon steps out of his back door into the experimental vegetable garden. In the dreams of glorious rule that he dreamt while still in Valinor, he never expected that it would take quite so much time, effort and imagination just to try and keep everyone well fed throughout the year. Now he spends days with his troop of gardeners considering cabbage. Strategy sessions revolve around lettuce, carrots and parsnips, whole campaigns are launched in order to conquer the leek and the onion, and intricate tactical plans are devised for the growth of strawberries and blackcurrants.

Never mind—they are making progress. Increasingly, they are managing to adapt the horticultural lore they brought from Valinor to local conditions. They have benefited from Sindarin advice, although the Sindar never used to maintain fields and gardens so far north, and they have adapted to the seasons.  His gardeners have also made a few inventions and discoveries that are entirely their own. Winter will keep returning each year, a periodic reminder of the Ice and of the power of Morgoth, but it is easier to face such reminders with a full belly.

Fingon surveys the neatly laid-out beds and the well-raked earth with pride. He has great hopes for the coming year. Almost involuntarily, his hand steals to the green jewel pendant on the chain around his neck. He looks east for a moment and suppresses a sigh.

**Author's Note:**

> Obligatory name confusion: Curvo=Curufin, Feanaro=Feanor, Findekano=Fingon, Tyelpo=Celebrimbor


End file.
